Sandman
by SwordStitcher
Summary: What do you dream of when you sleep? Some of our favourite Arkham inmates and their pests find out. Drabble.


A/N: A few drabbles about our favourite Batman characters and sleeping. I don't even... This thing gets its own story because I have no idea where to put it.

* * *

Edward Nigma sleeps in an old wingback in front of his computers. The stuffing's began to leak on one side, the thing tilts back dangerously and it's faded, tatty exterior makes one think it came from a dump but it's still the most comfortable thing he has. He rarely sleeps in a bed, rarely sleeps at all in fact but when he does finally succumb to the sandman's touch, it's generally in his favourite chair.

He dreams, oh yes. Everyone does. He dreams of the colour green, of questions and riddles even he hasn't found the answers to yet. He dreams of greatness and power. He dreams of his past, of his father and brutal punishment but never for long before the sandman's work is undone and he jerks awake in a flurry of panic.

* * *

Dead Switch has mastered the art of sleeping upright. One leg perfectly balanced on the wall, the other flat on the floor, sleep is difficult in this position, it isn't the most comfortable resting pose, but it has it's designs. Napping against a wall provides a false sense of security. Enticing an attacker to move closer, the foot against the wall allows her a launching point she can use for speed.

She dreams of donuts and heists as yet unplanned. She dreams of wealth and power too, but it all feels so secondary. She dreams of what she could become. What Daggett Industries had inadvertently left in her skin, her blood, her mind. She dreams of Clayface, and wakes clammy in cold, sleep all but rejected.

* * *

Batman never sleeps. Bruce Wayne sleeps in absolute luxury, often in company too. At least, that's what he wants people to think. His high priced bed, his luxury pillows, his bedding all tailored for maximum comfort. There was nothing better after a difficult night running from rooftop to rooftop chasing madmen with only the slightest grip on sanity than to sink into the bliss of soft, clean sheets. The sandman takes his due, even from Bruce.

Wayne dreams of supermodels and champagne. He dreams of a life without Batman, the terrible guilt that rests within his soul as he watches Gotham burn without her Dark Knight. He wakes, but not for long before the exhaustion drops him into a thankfully dreamless sleep once again.

* * *

Joker sleeps in bright light and vibrant colour, giggles and guffaws echoing around him. All the fun of the fair in fact. He sleeps in a bunk bed. It doesn't matter how stained the mattress or how thin the sheets, he finds joy in sleeping in a bunk bed. He may even spin a yarn about how his father hated them, how he refused to buy the young boy one, but it's all lies. The giggling clown falls to the sandman almost effortlessly as he dreams of what waits for Batman.

He dreams of bright colours and harsh giggles, of ticking bombs and the utter destruction of Gotham's knight. He dreamed of razing Gotham simply because he could. Of watching the terrified people scramble and fight below him and he embraced it, it was everything he ever wanted.

* * *

Jester sleeps at the only place she feels safe, Riddler's hideout. She sleeps on the old couch, wrapped in a mouldy blanket. The couch is lumpy and sometimes not obliging to her demands for sleep but she rests nonetheless. She doesn't sleep much anywhere else, never falling into the very heart of sleep, only ever teetering on the edge. At Eddies, she sleeps soundly; aware that should anything happen, she would be protected.

Jester dreams of many things. Of cold laughter and cars. Of new friends and old. Of Calendar Man and the glint of knives. She dreamed of Sorrow and Black Mask, of pain and anger. She wakes, only briefly and makes herself more comfortable as sleep creeps upon her once again.

* * *

Jonathan Crane finds himself too engrossed in work to sleep most days. When he finally must, when the calculations no longer make sense to him and the test subjects begin to react radically different to his theories, he succumbs and takes the lumpy mattress on the rusted frame in the corner of the room. His glasses are pulled from his face and carefully folded into a pocket. The mask is left on the work bench. He isn't Scarecrow at the minute. He's Jonathan Crane and he's exceedingly tired. The sandman finds him soon enough.

What does the master of fear possibly dream of? He dreams of crows and masks and of the many, many phobias he knows. The cries of former test subjects also intercede these flash images, each one he knew by the fear. He dreams of the one thing even he fears. The shrill, brittle voice of an elderly lady, spewing vile curses at him.

* * *

Police Commissioner James Gordon has a bed, sometimes he sees use out of it and sometimes he does not. After a particularly rough stand off with a Rogue however, when they've been safely locked in Arkham and he's avoided having his head bitten off by the mayor, when it's far too late to bother going home, he likes to curl up in an unused cell to sleep. He only ever gets four hours, maximum but that's enough to tide him over his next shift.

James Gordon only ever dreams the worst outcomes. The fall of Batman, the impossible loss of Barbera, Gotham burning. He knows at least one of these is possible and that is what scares him.


End file.
